


Physical Substance

by the1crazycatlady



Category: Pocahontas (1995)
Genre: Bittersweet, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Making Out, Maps, Oh God Yes, Self-Defense, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Villain/Hero, Wine, just accept it already, knickerbockers, poor babies, tattle tale, they're probably out of character, whatever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-12
Updated: 2015-04-12
Packaged: 2018-03-22 14:28:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3732310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the1crazycatlady/pseuds/the1crazycatlady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In an AU where Thomas and Wiggins are in a cliche Romeo-and-Juliet romance, even though Wiggins is sort of involved with Ratcliffe (not that it's a good relationship...). Smith finds out and goes to Ratcliffe. They get wine and a conversation going. We learn that Smith isn't as Disney-Princely as we all thought. [wink]</p>
<p>(Don't own anything, of course.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Physical Substance

"Governor Ratcliffe, sir."

Ratcliffe looked up from the map he was studying. "Yes, Captain Smith? What is it you want at such a late hour of the night?"

Smith marched over and slammed his hands down onto the table, peering into Ratcliffe's small, beady eyes. Ratcliffe swallowed and glanced down at the table, his face unchanging. He began to organize his papers, stacking them meticulously.

"There's something you should know," Smith began, repositioning himself so he leaned leisurely on one elbow. His long, blonde hair slid away, revealing a fine, masculine neck.

Ratcliffe glanced back up and reached over for his nightly glass of wine. He took a sip, looking Smith up and down, eyeing every muscle, every perfection, until he began to feel almost uncomfortable.

"Yes, what is it?" Something occurred to him. "Is it my gold? Have you found where my gold is?" He grinned, and one could almost imagine him hearing gold coins raining down on his grand, imaginary castle.

However, Smith shook his head. "I'm afraid not, sir. This is much more serious."

Ratcliffe scoffed but waited for Smith to continue. The captain paused for a moment, then slung himself onto the table, placing his magnificently-shaped rump on one of the paper stacks.

"It's about your little manservant. Wiggins, his name is?"

Ratcliffe's eyes narrowed. He slammed his wine glass down and leaned closer to Smith. " _Yes?_ " he hissed. "What about him?"

"I figured I should let you know that he's secretly romantically involved with one of the men. Thomas, the lad's name is."

Ratcliffe's hands tightened on a map and it crumpled in his grasp. The Governor glared up at Smith.

_Wiggins._  The man he'd given a job, a home, a relationship. Why, mere hours before, Wiggins had been in that very tent, mumbling sweet nothings into Ratcliffe's ear. And yet, all that time, he was probably thinking about that wretched,  _worthless_  boy, who couldn't shoot to save his life and had that annoying, cocky little grin...

The world went red; Ratcliffe stood up. He grabbed the front of Smith's shirt.

"What," he snarled, "did you say?"

"You heard me, Governor." Smith didn't even flinch. He looked Ratcliffe straight in the eye, seeming to say,  _Go ahead. Do what you want._

So Ratcliffe did. He yanked Smith towards him and pushed his lips onto the captain's.

"How do you know this?" he asked when they'd broken apart. He sat back down, smoothing a few wrinkles out of his knickerbockers.

"I caught them one night, in Thomas's tent." Smith didn't even seem ruffled by Ratcliffe's queer suddenness. The captain chuckled to himself and Ratcliffe panted quietly.

"They hardly did anything," Smith continued, "a few kisses, then they just talked and talked and talked for  _hours_." He rolled his eyes and bent down, putting himself in a position less than a foot from Ratcliffe's face. "It was such a dreadful bore to listen to." Smith sighed; Ratcliffe eyed him. "Me, personally, I need more than just worthless, time-wasting prattle to satisfy a relationship. I need physical substance."

"Physical substance," Ratcliffe repeated. Smith nodded, smirked, and began to pick at one of Ratcliffe's red satin bows. Ratcliffe swallowed and coughed delicately, glancing down at his paperwork.

"When was it you learned this...unnerving detail?" he wondered.

"Last week. After my guard shift."

Ratcliffe nodded, as if this confirmed something, when it really didn't and he was just nodding because he felt like nodding.

"Well, Captain Smith, I am thankful that you brought this to my attention. Thank you and have a wonderful evening." He reached back for his glass of wine and prepared to take a sip.

"Wine is better served in company," Smith remarked. Ratcliffe gave him an examatory look.

"I prefer to drink alone, myself," the Governor replied. Smith didn't say anything, but picked up the bottle of wine sitting on the table next to the candle.

"1580," Smith read. He smiled. "A very good year."

"Would you like to try some?" Ratcliffe cautioned. He reached down and pulled the extra glass out from it's case.

"Thank you, sir - that would be very nice."

Well, Ratcliffe would do anything to please Smith, so he poured out a drink for the good captain. The two men raised their glasses.

"To dealing with unfaithful servants," Ratcliffe said.

"To the physical substance."

Ratcliffe grinned at Smith's words and they both took a sip of the wine. Smith made a satisfied grunt and began to nod slowly.

"Yes, 1580 is a very good year." He paused, taking another sip. "It's the year I was born, as a matter of fact."

"Is that so?" Ratcliffe wondered. He pulled out his chair a little and leaned back, putting his feet up onto the table.

"Yes," Smith confirmed.

"Tell me, Captain Smith, why is it that you did not bring your news to me last week, right after you had learned of it?"

For the first time, Smith seemed uneasy. He shifted, eventually settling himself so he was facing Ratcliffe, with his legs swung over the other side of the desk. Papers were flying, but Ratcliffe decided not to let the mess bother him - he'd just have Wiggins clean it all up, as one of the punishments for being unfaithful.

"Well, I thought that I could, well, get some...physical substance from Thomas in exchange for my silence." His tone grew bitter. "The little brat stepped out at the last minute. Hit me, even! He had promised that he would do anything I wanted, and yet he  _hit_  me when I eventually decided. Squirmed away, ran deep into the woods." He laughed harshly. "I hope he gets lost."

"As do I," Ratcliffe agreed. "That insolent little child has brought nothing but bad luck since he joined the Virginia Company."

Maybe it was the wine. Or maybe not.

"And yet he seemed so naive, weak," Smith remarked. "But look."

He pulled aside his shirt and Ratcliffe saw a nasty-looking bruise just starting to form on his right breast. Ratcliffe tisked, not looking away from Smith's chest.

"I used to get such problems with Wiggins quite frequently," the Governor stated, "until I began to be more firm with him. Now..." He sighed. "I suppose I was getting soft with him, now wasn't I?"

Smith nodded and put his shirt back into its original position. Ratcliffe jerked as if from a dream, reluctantly raising his gaze.

"Never show weakness," Smith declared.

"Sage advice."

"I'm not all brawn."

"True, but you are still handsome."

Bitter jealousy set in just as the embarrassment did. However, Smith just smiled. He put a hand on Ratcliffe's right calf, sliding the hand up as he leaned closer to the Governor. Against his will, Ratcliffe sat up, leaning closer. His legs started to ache from the exertion, but he didn't care.

Smith scooted, closer, bringing the hand up and up, sliding off the table and onto Ratcliffe's exceedingly oversized lap. Smith leaned in and kissed him. Ratcliffe opened his mouth and they began to French kiss.

"Tell me more about my handsome self," Smith murmured in-between gasps.


End file.
